The lonely dance, the dreams
A wonderful place to meet
The vignette-lit sidestreets
of this dusty city, rattling tram
Barefoot, stilettos in hand
Broken bottle glass, wine glass,
I forget now
Not enough fingers to count
Searching for the red door
Although still red, not sure anymore
We climbed those stairs
Many a time long-before
The hard slug, the side-sway
And then the complex delight
We hankered down, grimy
and emerged in the Sunlight.
…and then it struck midnight. Cannons launch thousands of tiny metallic flakes in the air with a sweeping green light reflecting them like millions of shimmering sparkleflies [dancing above the dancing in white].
Her toes are numb
She cannot recount
The evening’s footprints
Words twist the tongue
She grinds
She knows the man
With his teeth
The mark he dared to leave
The clearest blue
Is deceiving
Cast your eyes away
The red light
On his skin
Here come the foray
and then –
The suffering sleep
He is awoken to his party –
and the appointment he must keep.